


your body is a weapon

by celestialfics, noahfics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anger, Captain America: The First Avenger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 04:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15964295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfics/pseuds/noahfics
Summary: "You aren't invincible," Bucky chides, because the truth of the matter is that Steve, just like Bucky, just likeeverybody, is only human.





	your body is a weapon

**Author's Note:**

> noah and i are constantly drowning in feelings about 40s bucky so here's a little product of that... i asked noah if he had anything he wanted to say and he just said "im gay" which is like, valid
> 
> title from the wombats song of the same name (which initially inspired this piece)  
> enjoy <3

The cold here is brutal and incessant. Bucky feels it down to his bones and then deeper, despite all his efforts to conserve any heat through the night. A wool blanket is pulled tightly around him, and underneath it he still wears his uniform and boots.

On each side of him, other Howling Commandos sleep fitfully, tossing and turning and mumbling in their slumber. It’s beyond crowded in the hastily assembled tent, but even so, body heat does not spread.

Bucky swallows thickly and wiggles his fingers where he’s shoved them into his pockets. He’s exhausted, but rest is an uphill battle and he sure as hell has had enough of those. He sighs, long and defeated, before he sits up and pulls his hands out of his pockets to rub at his eyes and scrub over his face. There are a few cigarettes left from his rations in one of his pockets, next to a capped lighter.

He’s careful as he stands and maneuvers his way out of the tent to avoid disturbing the others. He knows who he’s going to see as he steps foot outside—Steve, the self sacrificing bastard, has offered himself up for watch duty through the night because he “doesn’t need as much sleep anymore.”

It’s bullshit, as far as Bucky is concerned. Even if Steve were completely immune to the physical toll that this kind of lifestyle entails, it’s impossible that he doesn’t feel emotionally worn-down. And while Bucky can never say that he feels replenished from long nights of broken sleep, he’d still hate to go without it.

Steve has always been selfless to a fault and it drives Bucky up the goddamn wall. It was different when they were back in Brooklyn; lives were never on the line. Sure, some bones broke sometimes, but Steve was still tough even if his body was different. He’s always been tough, but he was never supposed to learn how to be tough in the way he is now. He kicks and shoots and kills hardly without second thought, and he barely sleeps. It’s the same for most soldiers, and it’s eating them all alive. That was never supposed to be  _Steve._

A sigh, a slight shake of his head, and Bucky finally steps out of the tent. The air is colder, but easier to breathe in.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is low, just above a whisper. “Something wrong?”

Bucky shrugs noncommittally before sitting next to Steve on the ground, their backs to the tent. “What isn’t,” he murmurs as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and uncaps his lighter. He knows what his response will illicit from Steve, and the long sigh just proves that.

“Bucky…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He can feel Steve’s heavy stare as he lights the cigarette between his fingers, but can’t quite bring himself to look Steve in the eyes. “I just can’t sleep. If you wanna rest, I can keep lookout.”

“You need it more than me,” Steve replies, and he smiles a bit like he’s trying to crack a joke. “Tell me again which of us is the super soldier?”

Bucky is  _not_ in the mood. “Are you serious?” he snaps, the irritation in his tone a little more obvious with each word.

“What do you—”

“That isn’t funny. You aren’t invincible,” Bucky chides, because the truth of the matter is that Steve, just like Bucky, just like  _everybody_ , is only human.

Steve doesn’t seem to register the gravity of Bucky’s words and still attempts to make light of the situation: “Well, I’m closer than most.”

“Steve.” He’s exasperated, now. “Shut up or I’m gonna knock your damn teeth in.” It’s hardly an empty threat; the anger that Bucky feels is amplified by bone deep exhaustion, and the impulse is certainly there, pressing. How Steve can joke about transforming his body into a weapon of war is beyond his understanding.

“Okay. Okay.” Steve stands suddenly, his hand wrapping around one of Bucky’s biceps and pulling him up as well. He drags Bucky a few paces away from the tent, where they can talk without disturbing the other commandos, and then lets go of him. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Forget it.” Bucky’s stubborn—nowhere near as stubborn as Steve, but he doesn’t think anyone could ever be as stubborn as Steve—so he resists, attempting to pull away from Steve and stalk back to where they’d been sitting.

Steve takes hold of his arm again before he makes it far. “I’m not gonna forget it, Buck.”

Bucky sighs, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He didn’t used to be so quick to anger, but he hasn’t been himself since he first dropped into England. Or maybe this  _is_ him now, forever tainted by the war.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks again, eyes locked on Bucky. Concern oozes from his tone and for some reason that just makes Bucky feel worse.

“You’re pissing me off, Rogers.”

Steve laughs, but it’s tight and forced. “Yeah, well, what’s new—”

“Knock it off,” he insists, and the bitterness of those words seems to finally trigger a realization in Steve. Bucky takes another drag of the cigarette and watches as the smoke dissipates into nothing before he continues, “You know, I would’ve rather died thinking you were safe in Brooklyn than had you here in the war with me.”

A thick silence sits over them for a long while. Steve’s shock is nearly tangible in the chilled air. Smoke twirls upwards in thin wisps, and Bucky follows it with his eyes. He flicks his cigarette to the ground crushes it under his foot before taking out another, inhaling slowly as he lights it up.

“No,” Steve speaks eventually, and it comes out loud, harsh. His tone has changed; concern morphs to anger in that one word. “You don’t get to say that to me. If you felt like that, why’d you enlist to go somewhere you knew I couldn’t follow?”

“I never wanted to leave you. I never—” Bucky breaks off, clenching his jaw and letting out a sharp exhale through his nose. He clears his throat, then: “I was drafted, Steve. I was drafted, I didn’t enlist.”

“You—” Steve tries, but there’s nothing more there, only the silence that surrounds the two of them as Bucky’s confession really hits him.

“I told you I enlisted because you were so—you were so—”  _Jealous_. The word sticks out, ugly, in Bucky’s head. Bucky was able to do everything Steve wanted—to fight for the country, to potentially lay down his life in combat against evil—yet he never felt that same pull. If Steve had known Bucky was drafted… Bucky doesn’t like to imagine the disappointment that would have radiated off of him. It’s different, now. “It doesn’t matter,” he decides, because Steve’s  _here_ , despite everything.

“It  _matters_ , Bucky,” Steve insists through gritted teeth. He truly has no idea.

“Not now, it doesn’t. Not now that you’re here,” Bucky says. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his boot, more frustrated than anything. He’s certainly frustrated with Steve, but that isn’t all it is—he’s frustrated with himself, with the circumstances, with the universe for putting them into this goddamn situation in the first place.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve demands, and again, Bucky can’t look him in the eyes.

“I wanted you to be proud,” he admits, shaking his head slightly at the ground. “When I—if I died out here, I didn’t want you to think that I was forced to fight. You had to think I was here by choice, fighting how you would have fought if you could’ve.”

Steve doesn’t speak, but when Bucky glances upwards he sees Steve’s eyes frantically scanning across Bucky’s face like he’s looking for a sign that he’s lying.

Bucky just purses his lips and swallows thickly.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Steve pauses, letting out a deep breath. “Not for me. Not for anybody.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Being drafted doesn’t make you any less of a—”

“Of a what? Of a soldier? Well, you’re damn right.” Bucky interrupts with an indignant, bitter laugh. “In the end we’re all the same; pawns in someone else’s game. We fight and we kill and we  _die_ , Steve, all the same.”

“No,” Steve disagrees immediately. “You’re bigger than—than this. You have never been a pawn, and I won’t let that happen to you.”

“It’s not up to you!” Bucky barks out, “What don’t you get about that? This fight isn’t yours!”

“It’s mine as much as it is anybody’s—”

Bucky slaps him across the face, quick and impulsive, and Steve looks at him with big, hurt eyes as he lifts his own hand to cradle his cheek. Bucky can’t bring himself to regret it regardless. He’s trembling, now, from head to toe.

“You were never supposed to follow me into the war, Steve,” he states, like it’s an objective truth. 

He  _knows_ , remembers vividly what it was like when Steve was so little, so fragile and sick, yet so impassioned; he remembers the constant nagging feeling that he was going to lose his Steve; and most of all, he remembers how badly he had wanted to protect him. Steve’s a far cry from the scrawny kid he once was, but Bucky had wanted—still wants—to protect him as if nothing has changed.

In the end, though, he can’t even manage to do that, because nothing he could have said or done would have kept Steve from doing this to himself.

“Do you really think I could bear letting you go alone like that? Sitting at home knowing you were out here risking your life?”

Anger bubbles hot and violent under Bucky’s skin. “It didn’t  _matter_  what happened to me as long as I knew you were safe!”

Steve stares at him for just a moment. “It was never your responsibility to keep me safe,” he says carefully, like he’s walking on eggshells.

His words make Bucky feel like he’s just been submerged in freezing water. His movements stop, his brain stops, and quite frankly, in that moment, he only knows one thing. He’s just never thought that he would ever have to say it out loud.

“You know what?” he starts, looking Steve square in the face, “You’re right. It wasn’t my responsibility. Do you know why I did it, Steve? Do you understand why I want you safe?”

Steve’s hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, and if his silence or his inability to look in Bucky’s general direction are anything to go off of, he doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re so dense. You’re so dense, Steve. I care about you in a way I’ve never cared about anyone—or anything—before.” Steve’s head still angles towards the ground, so Bucky lifts his hand to Steve’s jaw and tilts his head back forwards. His eyes are wide, but not frightened, not hurt. “I never felt like looking out for you was a chore. You hear me?”

Steve nods, shallow. Bucky’s hand is still on his face.

“You know why I want you safe? Do you know?” He pauses, but not long enough for Steve to answer even if he wanted to. “Because I  _love_ you, Steve. I love you so goddamn much that it hurts just seeing you out here with the rest of us, not knowing what’s gonna happen to you.” His heart is pounding violently in his chest and his fingers tremble against Steve’s cheek. Steve stares at him, lips parted and breathing hitched.

“You’re different than me,” Bucky continues, because now that he’s started he doesn’t know how to stop. “I’m not the kind of guy who gets to go home after this, not really. As soon as I set foot in basic I knew I was saying goodbye to you, and I made some sort of peace with that.” He lets out a long, labored breath and pulls his hand away. Steve’s eyes are full of a sadness Bucky has never seen in them. “I could die knowing you’d survive this god forsaken war and move on. But now you’re  _here_. You were never supposed to…” He trails to nothing and the forgotten cigarette he’d been clenching in his fingers burns him. He curses under his breath and flings the stub to the ground.

Bucky had started out so  _angry,_ so angry and hateful of the war and circumstances and what Steve had done, but for a moment, just a fleeting one, he feels a strange sense of calm.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says softly, leaning so that their shoulders press together, a small yet comforting gesture.

“No,” Bucky sighs, plummeting from his anger and suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. “No, I’m sorry. It’s always been your choice. You’ve always been so passionate about—about the country and—I’m not a patriotic man, Steve. Never have been. It’s about time you learned that. I’m selfish more than anything.”

“You’re not—” Steve protests, and even though there’s not a doubt in Bucky’s mind that Steve means it, it doesn’t make him  _right_.

“Listen to me. Everyone out here has something they’re fighting for. Something smaller than good versus evil. No one really gets through the trenches by thinking about their  _country_.” He sighs, and it’s shaky. He lets his head fall against Steve’s shoulder. “You find something small to clutch on to, and you can justify being out here for that. It’s always been you, Steve. For me, it’s always been you.”

Steve’s hand runs up Bucky’s back to rest on the back of his head, just holding him there. They sway together, just barely, and Bucky’s hands clutch to Steve’s sides like if he lets go he’ll collapse.

"No one is a perfect soldier, Buck. No one is perfectly patriotic, or perfectly unattached, or perfectly courageous. Not even Captain America. You hear me? I love you, too. I'd tear this world apart from the seams for you," Steve says lowly, with a comforting squeeze to Bucky’s shoulder.

“You better not.” Bucky lifts his head to meet Steve’s gaze.

Steve chuckles softly, and Bucky knows this is another thing Steve's set his heart to—something that will never change.

**Author's Note:**

> august: [twitter](http://twitter.com/liquidsaints) | [tumblr](http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/)  
> noah: [twitter](http://twitter.com/jjazens) | [tumblr](http://jazens.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you for reading <3


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